Si 


II 

I'    ; 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


RINGS   AND    LOVE-KNOTS 

BY 

SAMUEL  MINTURN  PECK 

A  uthur  of ' '  Cap  and  Bells  " 
THIRD  EDITION. 


NEW  YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1892, 

BY 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANT 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

An  Alabama  Garden    ......  3 

Mignon        ........      5 

Earth  Love        .                       .....  7 

Aunt  Martha's  Spinning- Wheel.           .           .           .  -9 

Polly        ........  12 

The  Grapevine  Swing      .           .           .           .           .  .    14 

The  Little  Lass  in  Pink          .  .  .  .  .17 

Where  the  Apple-Blossoms  Blow          .           .           .  .20 

Snowdrops         .......  22 

All  For  You            .           .           .           .           .           .  .24 

Blackberry  Blossoms  ......  26 

A  Song  From  the  City      .           .           .           .           .  .28 

To  a  Rosebud    .......  30 

Amorita       .           .           .           .           .           .           .  .31 

The  Daffodil's  Secret  ......  34 

My  First  Kiss         .           .           .           .           .           .  .36 

The  Buttercup  .......  38 

Liltle  Bopeep at  the  Fancy-Bali            .           .           .  .39 

Ariel's  Song       .......  42 

In  the  Orchard       .           .           .           .           .           .  .44 

The  Trumpet  Flower ......  46 

Glamourie   .            .            .            .            .            .            .  -47 

The  Fugitives  .......  49 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Bonnie  Rosabel     .«•••• 

A  Seaside  Flirtation 

The  Daisy 

Midsummer  Song         . 

The  Way  to  Win •    59 

The  Last  Apple-Blossom 

A  Song  Before  Dawn      .          .          •          •  •    62 

The  Wooing  of  Rose  .  .  .  •  .  .         64 

Spanish  Song  ...«•••  7 
A  Southern  Girl  ...•••  ^ 
The  Dandelion  .  .  •  •  «  •  •  7I 

Catching  a  Dimple       ...•••         73 

The  Little  Red  Ribbon 75 

Mabel  at  Her  Needlework  «  •         77 

Love  Among  the  Clover .  .  .  •  •  -79 

My  Lost  Love 8l 

Letter  Song 83 

An  April  Maid .  .  .  .....         85 

Wooing 8? 

Morning  Song  ...••••         89 

Puck •  •  •    91 

She  Said  That  I  Was  Dreaming  92 

Elf  Song -94 

That  Little  Lass  of  Mine 96 

Mr.  Dream-Maker 99 

A  Moonlight  Maid I0° 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

The  Passing  of  Summer  ....  .102 

A  Song  for  the  South  ......       103 

A  Creole  Serenade.  .  .  .  .  .  .105 

The  Maiden  of  My  Dreams   .....        107 

My  Love  in  the  Long  Ago .  .  .  .  .109 

The  Year  Hath  Reached  its  Afternoon      .          .          .in 
A  Seng  to  the  Autumn  Wind     .  .  .          *          -113 

A  Georgia  Girl  .  ......        114 

To  a  Cricket  .  .  .  .  .  .  .116 

Autumn  Dawn  .......        119 

Dream-Love  .......  120 

Lisette    ........        122 

A  Summer  Girl      .......  123 

Laughing  in  Her  Sleep          .....        125 

The  Love  that  Lives  for  Aye     .  .  .  •  .127 

Eulalie    ........       r»8 

Love's  Art  ........      130 

The  Death  of  Autumn  .....       131 

Marguerite ........  132 

Sweetheart        .......       134 

The  Girl  in  the  Gainsborough  Hat       ....  136 

To  a  Butterfly  in  December  .....        138 

Little  Bopeep  and  Little  Boy  Blue       .  .  .  .141 

Autumn  Glee    .......       143 

Ingle  Song  .....  .  .  145- 

My  Grandmother's  Turkey-Tail  Fan         .  .  .        147 


To  the  memory  of 

MY  MOTHER, 

IUCY  LAMB  RANDALL  PECK. 


Rings  and  love-knots  rare. 

And  roses  wet  "with  dew, 
I  bring  them  to  my  dainty  fair 

To  show  my  heart  is  true, 

OLD  SONG. 


AN   ALABAMA    GARDEN. 

ALONG  a  pine-clad  hill  it  lies, 
O'erlooked  by  limpid  Southern  skies, 
A  spot  to  feast  a  fairy's  eyes, 

A  nook  for  happy  fancies. 
The  wild  bee's  mellow  monotone 
Here  blends  with  bird-notes  zephyr-blown, 
And  many  an  insect  voice  unknown 

The  harmony  enhances. 

The  rose's  shattered  splendor  flees 
With  lavish  grace  on  every  breeze, 
And  lilies  sway  with  flexile  ease 

Like  dryads  snowy-breasted ; 
And  where  gardenias  drowse  between 
Rich  curving  leaves  of  glossy  green, 
The  cricket  strikes  his  tambourine, 

Amid  the  mosses  nested. 


AN  ALABAMA   GARDEN. 


Here  dawn-flushed  myrtles  interlace, 
And  sifted  sunbeams  shyly  trace 
Frail  arabesques  whose  shifting  grace 

Is  wrought  of  shade  and  shimmer; 
At  eventide  scents  quaint  and  rare 
Go  straying  through  my  garden  fair, 
As  if  they  sought  with  wilclered  air 

The  fireflies'  fitful  glimmer. 

Oh,  could  some  painter's  facile  brush, 
On  canvas  limn  my  garden's  blush, 
The  fevered  world  its  din  would  hush 

To  crown  the  high  endeavor ; 
Or  could  a  poet  snare  in  rhyme 
The  breathings  of  this  balmy  clime, 
His  fame  might  dare  the  dart  of  Time 

And  soar  undimmecl  forever  1 


MIGNON. 

ACROSS  the  gloom  the  gray  moth  speeds 

To  taste  the  midnight  brew, 
The  drowsy  lilies  tell  their  beads 
On  rosaries  of  dew. 

The  stars  seem  kind, 
And  e'en  the  wind 
Hath  pity  for  my  woe, 
Ah,  must  I  sue  in  vain,  ma  belle? 
Say  no,  Mignon,  say  no! 

Erelong  the  dawn  will  come  to  break 
The  web  of  darkness  through ; 

Let  not  my  heart  unanswered  ache 
That  beats  alone  for  you. 


MIGNON. 

Your  casement  ope 
And  bid  me  hope, 
Give  me  one  smile  to  bless  ; 
A  word  will  ease  my  pain,  ma  belle, 
Say  yes,  Mignon,  say  yes ! 


EARTH    LOVE. 

I  SEEK  not  why  the  cyclones  roar, 
Nor  whence  the  lurid  storm-clouds  pass ; 

Be  mine  a  shyer,  sweeter  lore, 
The  secrets  of  the  whispering  grass. 

The  crackling  scroll,  the  musty  tome, 
They  are  but  arid  husks  to  me 

Who  joy  to  breast  the  daisy  foam 
That  flecks  the  meadow's  emerald  sea. 

The  shimmering  dewdrop,  softly  bright, 
That  hangs  upon  the  violet's  eye, 

I  prize  beyond  the  bolder  light 
That  dazzles  in  the  arching  sky. 


EARTH  LOVE. 


In  lonely  woods  I  love  to  scan 

The  silvery  snare  the  spider  weaves, 

Or  watch  the  mimic  caravan 
Of  ants  among  the  mouldering  leaves ; 

Or  on  the  turf  with  head  bent  low, 
In  some  remote  and  mossy  glen, 

To  list  the  toil,  the  joy,  the  woe 
Of  tiny  lives  unguessed  of  men. 

With  heart  unvexed  of  tangled  creeds 
By  petty  brains  to  thinness  spun, 

Be  mine  the  text  of  flowers  and  weeds 
By  Nature  writ  in  shade  and  sun. 

They  lure  me  not,  the  stars  above ; 

Their  mysteries  are  too  cold  and  high. 
God  gave  to  us  the  earth  to  love, 

Within  whose  breast  all  sorrows  die. 


AUNT    MARTHA'S    SPINNING-WHEEL. 

WITH  spider-webbing  tattered 

In  travesties  of  lace, 
Mid  treasures  years  have  shattered, 

Once  miracles  of  grace  ; 
Imploring  Time  to  spare  it 

With  rusty  tongue  of  steel, 
Behold  it  in  the  garret, 

Aunt  Martha's  spinning-wheel. 

With  slow  and  pensive  fingers 

I  wipe  the  webs  away, 
While  loving  Fancy  lingers 

To  paint  an  olden  day. 
When  youth  and  beauty  crowned  it 

What  gay  songs  used  to  peal  ! 
Now  crickets  wail  around  it, 

Aunt  Martha's  spinning-wheel. 


AUNT  MARTHA'S  SPINNING-WHEEL. 

I  softly  touch  the  treadle  ; 

It  gives  a  plaintive  squeak ; 
It  begs  me  not  to  meddle, 

In  murmurs  sad  and  meek. 
Alas !  the  feet  that  lithely 

Once  twinkled  through  the  reel, 
No  more  shall  pat  it  blithely, 

Aunt  Martha's  spinning-wheel. 

How  oft  its  noisy  turning 

Hath  served  a  lover's  need, 
And  kept  Age  from  decerning 

What  only  Youth  should  heed ! 
'T  would  drown  both  vows  and  kisses 

That  lovers  love  to  steal ; 
A  dear  old  treasure  this  is — 

Aunt  Martha's  spinning-wheel. 

For  fear  of  house  adorner 

In  search  of  bric-a-brac, 
Far  in  the  garret  corner 

With  sighs  I  put  it  back ; 


A  UNT  MARTHA'S  SPINNING-WHEEL* 

And  there  just  as  I  found  it, 

I  leave  for  woe  or  weal 
With  ghosts  to  glide  around  it 

Aunt  Martha's  spinning-wheel. 


POLLY. 

IN  a  little  scarlet  kirtle 
With  a  dewy  sprig  of  myrtle 
She  comes  tripping  from  the  dairy 
When  the  dawn  begins  to  peep. 
Where  the  snowy  lambs  are  skipping 
And  the  swallows  gayly  dipping 
She  stands  with  dimpled  elbows — 
I  can  see  her  in  my  sleep ! 

How  her  rosy  fingers  twinkle 
As  she  milks  !     The  tinkle,  tinkle 
In  the  milk-pail  is  delightful, 

I  could  listen  all  the  day. 
It  sets  my  heart  a-flutter, 
Just  to  see  her  pat  the  butter, 


POLL  Y. 

For  she  rolls  it  and  she  pats  it 
In  a  wildly  witching  way. 

Tis  sad  to  see  the  lasses 
Frown  upon  her  as  she  passes, 
But  she  gives  her  wayward  curls  a  toss, 

The  saucy  little  sprite  ! 
She  knows  the  laddies  love  her, 
For  they  never  fail  to  hover 
Like  bees  around  an  apple-bloom, 
When  Polly  comes  in  sight. 


THE    GRAPEVINE    SWING. 

WHEN  I  was  a  boy  on  the  old  plantation, 

Down  by  the  deep  bayou, 
The  fairest  spot  of  all  creation, 

Under  the  arching  blue  ; 
When  the  wind  came  over  the  cotton  and  corn, 

To  the  long  slim  loop  I'd  spring 
With  brown  feet  bare,  and  a  hat-brim  torn, 

And  swing  in  the  grapevine  swing. 

Swinging  in  the  grapevine  swing, 
Laughing  where  the  wild  birds  sing, 

I  dream  and  sigh 

For  the  days  gone  by 
Swinging  in  the  grapevine  swing. 


THE  GRAPEVINE  SWING. 


Out — o'er  the  water-lilies  bonnie  and  bright, 

Back — to  the  moss-grown  trees ; 
I  shouted  and  laughed  with  a  heart  as  light 

As  a  wild-rose  tossed  by  the  breeze. 
The  mocking-bird  joined  in  my  reckless  glee, 

I  longed  for  no  angel's  wing 
I  was  just  as  near  heaven  as  I  wanted  to  be 

Swinging  in  the  grapevine  swing. 

Swinging  in  the  grapevine  swing, 
Laughing  where  the  wild  birds  sing, — 

Oh  to  be  a  boy 

With  a  heart  full  of  joy, 
Swinging  in  the  grapevine  swing  ! 


I'm  weary  at  noon,  I'm  weary  at  night, 
I'm  fretted  and  sore  of  heart, 

And  care  is  sowing  my  locks  with  white 
As  I  wend  through  the  fevered  mart. 


THE  GRAPEVINE  SWING, 


I'm  tired  of  the  world  with  its  pride  and  pomp, 
And  fame  seems  a  worthless  thing. 

I'd  barter  it  all  for  one  day's  romp, 
And  a  swing  in  the  grapevine  swing, 

Swinging  in  the  grapevine  swing, 
Laughing  where  the  wild  birds  sing, 

I  would  I  were  away 

From  the  world  to  day, 
Swinging  in  the  grapevine  swing. 


THE    LITTLE    LASS    IN    PINK. 

A  PEERLESS  pearl  of  beauty, 

A  jewel  of  romance  ! 
Who  would  not  ride  in  tourney 

To  gain  her  winsome  glance  ? 
Who  would  not  be  a  minstrel, 

The  golden  rhymes  to  link, 
And  sing  her  praise  in  merry  lays — 

The  little  lass  in  pink  ? 

So  tiny  are  her  glovelets, 

So  dainty  are  her  shoon, 
I  trow  the  pixies  wrought  them 

Beneath  the  midnight  moon  ; 
And  o'er  the  elfin  stitches 

They  sang,  with  many  a  wink, 
'  We  twine  a  twist  that  none  resist 

The  little  lass  in  pink." 


THE  LITTLE  LASS  IN  PINK. 


She  hath  a  witching  dimple  ; 

Now  was  it  not  a  sin 
That  when  the  fairies  crowned  her 

They  put  that  dimple  in  ! 
The  heartaches  it  hath  given 

It  grieves  my  soul  to  think ; 
She  hath  no  care  how  lovers  fare — 

The  little  lass  in  pink. 

Her  smile  is  like  a  dew-drop 
That  glistens  in  the  morn. 

Her  frown — no  eye  hath  seen  it : 
She  never  looks  in  scorn. 

Her  footsteps  fall  like  rose-leaves 
Beside  the  fountain's  brink. 

The  gallants  sigh  as  she  goes  by— 
The  little  lass  in  pink. 

After  the  revel's  over, 

When  stars  grow  dim  above, 
And  slumber's  drowsy  fingers 

Have  kissed  the  eyes  we  love, 


THE  LITTLE  LASS  IN  PINK. 


Ho !  gallant  cavaliers, 
Your  parting  beakers  clink : 

"  May  time  tread  light  and  never  blight 
The  little  lass  in  pink  1 " 


WHERE   THE    APPLE-BLOSSOMS    BLOW. 

MEET  me  where  the  apple-blossoms  blow, 

Softly  now  the  fragrant  boughs  are  swinging ; 
Greet  me  when  the  moon  begins  to  glow, 
And  in  the  pines  the  whippoorwills  are  singing. 
With  loyal  heart  a-beat, 
Oh,  haste  with  flying  feet, 

And  shame  the  sluggish  hours  that  wing  too  slow. 
The  day  is  long  and  dreary, 
My  heart  is  worn  and  weary, 
I  count  the  laggard  moments  as  they  go, 
Love. 

Oh, 
Meet  me  where  the  apple-blossoms  blow. 


WHERE  THE  APPLE-BLOSSOMS  BLOW.        21 

Meet  me  where  the  apple-blossoms  blow  ; 

Let  the  floating  petals  flake  your  tresses, 
Breathing  us  a  benison  below, 
Crowning  our  betrothal  with  caresses. 
Far  in  the  upper  deep, 
The  stars  are  now  a-peep, 
The  drowsy  river  murmurs  in  its  flow, 
I  hear  its  voice  repeating : 
"  Life's  blossom-time  is  fleeting." 
Ah  !  let  us  catch  the  fragrance  ere  it  go, 
Love. 

Oh, 
Meet  me  where  the  apple-blossoms  blow ! 


SNOWDROPS. 

WHEN  winter's  sceptre  quivers 

Within  his  withered  hand, 
And  from  the  captive  rivers 
His  crystal  chains  unhand, 
Above  the  sod  they  shyly  peer, 
The  first-born  blossoms  of  the  year. 

They  never  catch  the  cooing 
Of  wood-doves  in  the  trees, 
They  never  hear  the  wooing 
Of  butterflies  and  bees, 

All  pure  and  bright  they  stand  alone, 
Unconscious  of  the  charms  they  own. 


SNOWDROPS. 


Anon,  when  day  is  ended 

And  night  grows  crisp  and  chill, 
With  airy  bells  suspended 
Along  the  frosty  hill, 
They  are  the  chimes  the  fairies  ring 
To  welcome  in  the  laughing  spring. 


ALL    FOR   YOU. 

THE  love  in  my  heart  is  as  strong  as  the  hills 

And  as  deep  as  the  fathomless  sea, 
Yet  pure  as  the  breath  of  the  rose  that  thrills 

The  soul  of  the  summer  with  glee. 
'Tis  fair  as  the  light  of  the  faithful  stars 

That  beam  in  the  boundless  blue ; 
No  selfish  mote  its  radiance  mars, 

And,  Sweetheart,  't  is  all  for  you. 

All  for  you ! 

Strong  and  true, 
No  time  the  tie  can  sever, 

Till  the  angels  doubt, 

And  the  stars  burn  out, 
I  am  yours,  Sweetheart,  forever. 


ALL  FOR  YOU.  25 


The  love  in  my  heart,  I  know  not  why 

Nor  how  it  came  to  be, 
But  the  bliss  that  is  mine  no  gold  can  buy, 

Since  love  hath  come  to  me. 
O,  love,  love,  love !     There's  nothing  so  sweet, 

Go  search  the  wide  world  through 
My  heart  is  so  full  of  it,  every  beat 

Cries  out  it  is  all  for  you. 

Ail  for  you  ! 

Strong  and  true, 
No  time  the  tie  can  sever. 

Till  the  angels  doubt 

And  the  stars  burn  out, 
I  am  yours,  Sweetheart,  forever. 


BLACKBERRY    BLOSSOMS. 

FROM  a  thicket  in  the  corner  of  zig-zag  fence 

Where  the  succulent  pokeberry  stalks  uprear, 
With  sassafras  and  sumach  in  a  wild-growth  dense, 
The  blackberry  blossoms   through  the  brown  rails 

peer; 
With  dew-drops  shining  on  their  long  white  sprays, 

Where  the  yellow  bee  buzzes  and  the  red-bird  flies, 
They  marvel  at  the  world  and  its  new-found  ways, 
With  innocent  wonder  in  their  wild,  sweet  eyes. 
Magnolias  are  white, 
And  roses  are  bright, 
And  many  there  be  that  love  them  ; 
But  with  dew-besprinkled  faces 
And  wildwood  graces, 
Oh,  the  blackberry  blossoms  are  above  them. 


BLACKBERRY  BLOSSOMS. 


When  the  pine-boughs  are  swinging  in  the  soft  May 

breeze, 
And  bumblebees   are  boasting  of   their  spring-tide 

gain, 
And  the  mockbird  is  singing  out  his  happiest  glees 

To  the  cotton-tailed  rabbit  in  the  bend  of  the  lane ; 
They  lean  their  faces  on  the  moss-grown  rails 

And  listen  to  the  melody  the  mockbird  weaves ; 
While  the  lizards  go  a-darting  with  their  trembling  tails 
Like  slim,   long    shuttles   through   the   last   year's 
leaves. 

Chrysanthemums  are  fair, 
And  orchids  are  rare, 
And  many  there  be  that  love  them  ! 
But  with  dew-besprinkled  faces 
And  wildwood  graces, 
Oh,  the  blackberry  blossoms  are  above  them  ! 


A    SONG    FROM   THE    CITY. 

AMID  the  tall  grasses,  ah !  would  I  might  lie 
When  Maytime  is  flitting  and  summer  is  nigh, 
Peacefully,  dreamfully  resting  all  day 
With  never  a  thought  of  the  future  to  fray, 

Wood-birds  to  s:ng  to  me, 

Breezes  to  bring  to  me 
Wild,  wayward  perfumes  that  kings  cannot  buy. 

Amid  the  tall  grasses,  ah !  would  I  might  sleep, 
Lulled  by  low  murmurings  tender  and  deep ; 
Lying  full  length  by  some  willow-kissed  stream, 
Mystical  music  would  stray  through  my  dream, 

Echoes  from  airy-land, 

Lyrics  from  fairy-land, 
Over  my  weary  brain  softly  would  sweep. 


A  SONG  FROM  THE  CITY. 


Amid  the  tall  grasses,  ah !   would  I  might  rest 
Till  the  sun  had  sunk  down  in  the  shadowy  west ; 
There  would  I  glide  from  a  sorrow-crowned  life, 
Forgetting  the  weariful  world  and  its  strife, 

Back  to  my  boy  days, 

Back  to  my  joy  days, 
That  is  the  sweetest  thought,  that  is  the  best. 


TO    A    ROSEBUD. 

O  HAPPY  little  rosebud 
Upon  her  dusky  hair  ! 
Like  some  sweet  star 
That  gleams  afar, 

You  lighten  my  despair. 

All  wet  with  dew  at  morning 
Upon  the  old  rose-tree 
You  shone  so  fair 
I  chose  you  there 

My  messenger  to  be. 

So  loyal  little  rosebud 
Just  whisper  to  my  sweet, 

I  sigh  for  her, 

I'd  die  for  her, 
My  heart  is  at  her  feet. 


AMORITA. 

I   SEEM   to  hear  you   singing  in  the  murmur  of    the 

breeze, 

I  listen  to  your  teardrops  in  the  rain  amid  the  trees. 
There's  an  echo  of  your  laughter  in  the  brooklet  as  it 

flows, 
And  I  feel   your  balmy  breathing  in  the  odor  of  the 

rose. 

Everywhere, 

Sweet  and  fair, 
In  the  earth  and  sky 
Hints  of  you, 

Thrill  me  through, 
Love  me  or  I  die. 


32  AMOR1TA. 


The  blossom  by   the  wayside  grows  more  fragrant  as 

you  pass, 
And  brighter  flash  the  dew-drops  as  they  glimmer  in  the 

grass. 

The  hue  that  tints  the  ruby  to  your  curving  lip  replies, 
And  from  the  distant  stars  I  catch  the  glory  of  your 

eyes. 

Let  my  song, 

Lithe  and  strong 
Through  your  lattice  fly, 
Ere  the  night 

Wings  its  flight, 
Love  me  or  I  die. 


What  were  life  without  you,  oh,  I  cannot,  dare  not 

dream, 
T  were  worthless  as  a  shattered  leaf  upon  an  autumn 

stream, 


AMORITA.  33 


Tossed  upon  the  restless  wave  by  every  blast  unkind, 
And  driven  down  the  turbid  tide  heart-broken,  hopeless, 
blind. 

O,  my  sweet, 

At  your  feet 
Heed  my  lonely  cry, 
Grant  relief 

To  my  grief, 
Love  me  or  I  die. 


THE    DAFFODIL'S    SECRET. 

SING,  sing,  O  bluebird,  sing 
A  merry  lilt  to  greet  the  spring 
Who  hies  across  the  world  to-day 
With  dimples  arch  and  blushes  gay, 

Ah,  dost  thou  doubt  ? 

The  secret's  out ; 
Like  frolic  heralds  braving 

The  storm  with  golden  glee, 
The  daffodils  are  waving 

The  tidings  glad  to  me. 

Trill,  trill,  O  bluebird,  trill 
Yet  blither  measures  from  thy  bill. 
Soon  o'er  thy  nest  the  breeze  shall  strew 
Sweet  apple-blossoms  wet  with  dew  ; 


THE  DA  FFODIL'S  SECRE T.  35 

No  longer  doubt — 

The  secret's  out ; 
E'en  now  the  buds  are  swelling 

With  beauty  soon  to  be. 
The  daffodils  are  telling 

The  tidings  glad  to  me  1 


MY    FIRST    KISS. 

THE  tender  smile  of  parting  day 

Was  waning  in  the  west ; 
Soft  shadows  climbed  the  eastern  way 

Where  morning's  feet  had  prest. 
We  lingered  on,  my  Love  and  I, 

Amid  the  fragrant  dew, 
And  though  our  hearts  were  beating  high 

Our  words  were  low  and  few. 

The  little  stars  laughed  down  in  scorn — 
Where  had  my  courage  fled  ? 

At  last,  with  strength  of  passion  born, 
The  fateful  words  were  said.. 


FIRST  KISS.  37 


She  could  not  speak — she  could  not  see, 
So  thick  the  teardrops  shone, 

But  drooping  eyelids  told  to  me 
What  lips  were  shy  to  own. 

I've  toiled  and  won  an  honored  name, 

And  now  I'm  growing  old  ; 
I've  touched  the  shining  hem  of  Fame, 

And  found  its  touch  was  cold  ; 
But  still  from  out  the  shadowy  past 

One  memory  brings  me  bliss, 
For  I  shall  keep  while  life  shall  last — 

Our  first,  betrothal  kiss. 


THE    BUTTERCUP. 

WHEN  morning  caught  the  fairy  band 

A-fcasting  in  the  dell, 
From  out  Titania's  trembling  hand 

The  dainty  gobiet  fell ; 
And  with  her  tresses  blown  askew, 
She  fled  across  the  peeping  dew. 

The  sun-god  viewed  the  frighted  train, 
And  laughed  along  the  green  ; 

When  lo  !  just  where  the  cup  had  lain 
A  lovely  sight  was  seen  : 

The  beaker  bloomed  a  floweret  gay, 

The  blithest  blossom  of  the  May. 


LITTLE    BOPEEP    AT    THE  FANCY-BALL. 

HER  shoon  are  made  of  satin,  fairer  far  than  Arctic 

snows, 

And  gayly  pit-a-pat  in  them  amid  the  dance  she  goes; 
So  graceful  is  her  tripping, 

Forever  I  could  look 
To  view  those  shoon  a-skipping 
About  her  dainty  crook. 

Her   gloves  are  number  sixes — she  could  don  a  five 

with  ease ; 

They  were  fashioned  by  the  pixies  that  no  mortal  ever 
sees. 

They  reach  up  to  her  shoulder : 

Her  arm  no  eye  may  scan, 
'T  is  shocking,  I  have  told  her 
Such  cruelty  to  man. 


40        LITTLE  BOPEEP  A  T  THE  FANCY-BALL. 

Her  hair — how  shall  I  term  it,  but  summer  sunbeams 

curled  ? 

I  know  't  would  make  a  hermit  gay  and  win  him  to  the 
world. 

Her  lips  are  pouting  scarlet, 
Her  eyes  a  witching  hue  ; 
I'd  style  each  one  a  starlet, 
If  stars  were  only  blue. 

'T  is  far  beyond  my  praises,  the  hat  she  chose  to  rim 
Her  winsome   face,   with   daisies    bright   all   nodding 
round  the  brim ; 

And  when  her  eyes  like  beryls 

Beneath  them  coruscate, 
Each  glance  is  fraught  with  perils, 
As  I  have  found  too  late. 

The  dowagers  in  glasses  inspect  her  frolic  skirt, 
And  often   as  she  passes  by  I    hear  them  whisper, 
"  flirt." 


LITTLE  BOPEEP  A  T  THE  FANCY-BALL.        41 

But  let  them  take  all  that  on — 

What  care  hath  gay  Bopeep  ? 
With  saucy  hose  and  hat  on 

She  leads  the  beaux  like  sheep. 


ARIEL'S   SONG. 

MY  home  is  the  heart  of  a  milk-white  rose; 

I  slumber  the  long  day  through, 
Lapped  in  balm  till  the  night  wind  blows 
The  shimmering  stars  in  the  blue. 
Then  up  from  my  couch,  in  the  evening  gale 

I  float  in  a  thistle-down  car, 
Over  the  hiH  and  over  the  dale, 
And  over  the  billows  afar. 
Ariel  I, 
Elf  of  the  sky, 
Swift  on  my  errands  I  fare. 
For  woe  and  for  weal 
Through  the  starlight  I  steal ; 
Let  wry-hearted  mortals  beware. 


ARIEL'S  SONG.  43 


The  moth  that  flits  through  the  midnight  gloom 

Quakes  when  my  bugle  I  blow ; 
The  dusky  bat  and  the  beetles  that  boom 

My  arrows  have  oft  laid  low. 
Then  onward  I  fare  with  a  pack  full  of  dreams 

And  spells  to  bless  and  to  blight, 
And  happy  the  brow  when  the  morning  beams 
That  I  have  kissed  in  the  night. 
Ariel  I, 
Elf  of  the  sky, 

I  toil  till  the  east  grows  gray, 
Chasing  grim  cares, 
And  culling  the  tares 
That  tangle  the  sheaves  of  the  day. 


IN    THE    ORCHARD. 

WHEN  the  butterfly's  a  rover 

With  the  frolic  summer  breeze, 
Flitting  o'er  the  purple  clover 
Like  a  seagull  o'er  the  seas, 
Fleeter  wings  my  fancy  borrows, 
Gayly  flouting  cares  and  sorrows, 
As  I  lie  with  half-closed  eyelids 
'  Neath  the  drowsy  apple-trees. 

In  my  dreams  through  field  and  thicket 
With  the  mellow  bees  I  stray ; 

I'm  a  comrade  of  the  cricket 
In  his  piping  and  his  play ; 


IN  THE  ORCHARD.  45 

I  obey  the  gentle  luring 
Of  the  wood-dove's  troubadouring, 
And  I  feel  my  heart-beats  quicken 
As  he  coos  his  ardent  lay. 

In  the  grass  a  pleasure  lingers 

That  a  king  might  sigh  to  share ; 
'T  is  no  breeze,  but  summer's  fingers 

That  are  straying  through  my  hair. 
And  a-dream,  with  naught  to  fray  me, 
On  earth's  bosom  low  I  lay  me, 
Like  a  child  upon  its  mother's, 

Happy  only  to  be  there. 


THE    TRUMPET    FLOWER. 

ITS  tube  of  gold  and  scarlet  bright, 
A  blossom  seen  at  noonday  glow, 

Becomes  beneath  the  wand  of  night 
A  horn  for  elves  to  blow. 

When  night  winds  rock  the  sleeping  bird, 
And  star  smiles  soothe  the  restless  main, 

By  mortal  ear  can  ne'er  be  heard 
The  pixie's  eerie  strain. 

The  fegend  saith,  a  child  might  catch 

The  fairy  glee  if  free  from  sin, 
For  Puck  would  lift  the  elf-land  latch, 

And  let  the  wee  one  in. 


GLAMOURIE. 

I  DREAMED  that  you  kissed  me  1  I  dreamed  that  I  felt 

The  touch  of  two  warm  lips  to  mine  ; 
And  over  my  mouth,  that  was  quivering  dwelt 

The  odor  of  roses  and  wine. 
The  fays  began  ringing  the  dew-bells  bright, 

The  moon  shed  an  answering  beam ; 
The  fountain  leaped  up  with  a  thrill  of  delight, 
But  alas ! — it  was  only  a  dream. 

'T  was  only  a  dream 
'Neath  the  moon's  pale  gleam, 
Only  the  dream  of  a  kiss ; 
But  fate  may  undo  me, 
And  sorrow  pursue  me, 
You  were  mine  for  one  moment  of  bliss. 


48  GLAMOURIE. 


I  dreamed  that  you  kissed  me  !    Your  shimmering  hair 

Rippled  over  mine  eyes  in  its  flow. 
I  felt  the  soft  touch  of  your  bosom  most  fair 

With  virginal  lilies  a-blow. 
Two  white  arms  stole  around  me  with  passion  confest 

All  pains  of  the  past  to  redeem. 
Let  Fortune  deride  me,  one  moment  was  blest ; 
But  alas  ! — it  was  only  a  dream. 

'T  was  only  a  dream 
'Neath  the  moon's  pale  gleam, 
Only  the  dream  of  a  kiss  ; 
But  Fate  may  undo  me, 
And  sorrow  pursue  me, 
You  were  mine  for  one  moment  of  bliss  I 


THE    FUGITIVES. 

THE  winds  are  piping  shrilly 
Above  the  trembling  tree ; 
Before  their  fingers  chilly 

The  frighted  leaflets  flee  ; 
One  longing  look  behind  them,  cast  upon  the  branches 

bare, 
And  on  they  wildly  flutter,  the  exiles  of  the  air. 

With  cruel  speed  relentless, 

The  shouting  winds  pursue  ; 
O'er  meadows  brown  and  scentless 

Still  flit  the  timid  crew ; 
Their  gold  and  purple  garments,  whose  tints  surpassed 

the  morn, 

By  sullen  mire  are  drabbled,  by  heartless  flints  are 
torn. 


THE  FUGITIVES. 


Some  with  a  sob  and  shiver 

Go  hurrying  through  the  town  ; 
Some  in  the  cold,  dark  river 

Their  sorrows  fain  would  drown ; 
And  some  with  weary  faces  within  the  churchyard  fly 
To  seek  among  the  quiet  graves  the  rest  that  storms 
deny. 


BONNIE    ROSABEL. 

WHEN  drowsy  dews  begin  to  peep 

Amid  the  swaying  boughs, 
Before  the  stars  have  gone  to  sleep 

She  comes  to  milk  the  cows. 
Her  rosy  twinkling  fingers  sweep 

In  curves  of  rhythmic  grace, 
And  as  she  milks  the  bubbles  leap 

To  see  her  pretty  face. 

Hey,  lads  !     Ho,  lads, 
Let  the  chorus  swell, 

And  pipe  with  me 

A  merry  glee 
For  bonnie  Rosabel. 


53  BONNIE  ROSABEL. 

Her  breath  is  like  the  breeze  that  plays 

Amid  the  fragrant  thorn  ; 
Her  voice  outsweets  the  rill  that  strays 

Through  April  woods  at  morn. 
Alas !   for  him  who  stops  to  gaze 

Upon  her  locks  a-twined  : 
His  guileless  feet  shall  go  their  ways 

And  leave  his  heart  behind. 

Hey,  lads  I    Ho,  lads  I 
Rhymes  can  never  tell 
The  winsome  grace 
That  lights  the  face 
Of  bonnie  Rosabel. 


A    SEASIDE   FLIRTATION. 

WITH  sorrow  in  her  eyes  of  blue, 

With  trembling  hands,  she  slowly  penned  it- 
The  little  parting  billet-doux 

That  conscience  told  her  now  should  end  it. 
Those  tite-H-tete  along  the  shore, 

Those  gipsyings  with  fern-filled  basket, 
Must  join  the  dear  delights  of  yore 

And  only  live  in  memory's  casket. 

There  never  was  a  heart  like  Jack's  : 
He  told  his  passion  in  his  glances. 

She  sealed  her  note  with  scented  wax, 
But  could  not  drown  her  dismal  fancies. 


54  A  SEASIDE  FLIRTATION. 

When  he  should  read  his  suit  denied, 
So  long  the  theme  of  idle  gazers, 

She  pictured  him  a  suicide, 
And  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  razors  I 

At  last  she  slept — but  not  till  dawn 

Had  blossomed  through  the  ocean  vapors. 
Jack  conned  her  missive  with  a  yawn 

When  he  had  read  the  morning  papers. 
He  gave  his  beard  a  languid  twirl, 

And  murmured  as  he  sat  a-smoking : 
"  Tear-stained — By  Jove  I — poor  little  girl— 

I  thought  she  knew  that  I  was  joking  1 " 


THE    DAISY. 

THE  moon  was  fair,  the  night  was  still, 
The  sunrmer  mists  were  creeping, 

And  down  the  valley  by  the  rill 
A  tiny  fay  lay  sleeping. 

The  night  was  still  in  fairy-land, 
Puck  strayed  a  merry  fellow 

On  mischief  bent ;  within  his  hand 
A  shield  of  white  and  yellow. 

In  fairy-land,  the  story  goes, 

The  fay — Puck  never  missed  her, 

But  dropped  the  shield,  and  on  his  toes 
He  slyly  crept  and  kissed  her. 


56  THE  DAISY. 


The  story  goes,  at  morning-tide, 
The  hills  no  longer  hazy, 

The  shepherds  all  with  wonder  eyed 
The  shield,  a  dewy  daisy. 


MIDSUMMER    SONG. 

THE  amber  smiles  of  early  morn 
Hath  flashed  across  the  ripening  corn ; 
And  on  the  spider's  netting  frail 

The  dew  is  gleaming  bright, 
As  if  an  elf  had  lost  her  veil 
While  fleeing  from  the  light. 

From  out  the  wood  the  streamlets  run 
On  silver  feet  to  greet  the  sun ; 

No  bramble  snare  their  steps  can  bind, 

Their  laughter  rings  above, 
Where  balmy  blossoms  weight  the  wind 
With  messages  of  love. 


58  MIDSUMMER  SONG. 

Now  swells  the  din  of  merchant  bees 
Along  the  meadow's  flowery  seas, 

While  music  floats  from  every  bough 

In  carols  sweet  and  clear  ; 
It  is  the  heart  of  summer  now — 
The  noontide  of  the  year. 


THE    WAY    TO    WIN. 

IF  on  the  field  of  love  you  fall, 

With  smiles  conceal  your  pain ; 
Be  not  to  Love  too  sure  a  thrall, 

But  lightly  wear  his  chain. 
Don't  kiss  the  hem  of  Beauty's  gown, 

Or  tremble  at  her  tear, 
And  when  caprices  weigh  you  down, 
A  word  within  your  ear  : 
Another  lass,  another  lass, 

With  laughing  eyes  and  bright- 
Make  love  to  her, 
And  trust  me,  sir, 
T  will  set  your  wrongs  aright. 


60  THE  WA  Y  TO  WIN. 

Whene'er  a  sweetheart  proves  unkind 

And  greets  you  with  a  frown, 
Or  laughs  your  passion  to  the  wind, 

The  talk  of  all  the  town, 
Plead  not  your  cause  on  bended  knee 

And  murmured  sighs  prolong, 
But  gather  from  my  minstrelsy 
The  burden  of  my  song : 

Another  lass,  another  lass, — 
There's  always  beauty  by, — 
Make  love  to  her, 
And  trust  me,  sir, 
'T  will  clear  the  clouded  sky 


THE    LAST    APPLE-BLOSSOM. 

O  LITTLE  bud  of  pink  and  white, 

By  sad  mischance  delayed, 
Wert  thou  cast  off  by  spring  in  flight 

To  pine  amid  the  shade  ? 
Unsought  by  bee  and  butterfly, 

Thy  fragrant  comrades  flown, 
Thou  lingerest  unmourned  to  die 

In  silence  and  alone. 

O  little  flower  of  white  and  pink, 

Thou  hast  not  lived  in  vain, 
Thy  modest  face  the  fairest  link 

In  memory's  rosy  chain ; 
Thy  parting  breath  like  magic  brings 

Sweet  spring-tide's  bygone  hours  ; 
And  once  again  my  fancy  wings 

Through  April's  sun  ai)d  showers. 


A  SONG  BEFORE  DAWN. 

O  LITTLE  Love,  along  the  hill 
The  silver  dews  are  peeping, 
Upon  the  pine  the  whippoorwill 
His  lonely  watch  is  keeping ; 
But  gayly  blows 
The  summer  rose 
Around  your  lattice  creeping. 

O  little  Love  with  wayward  curls, 

No  jewel  do  I  bring  you  ; 
If  tripping  rhymes  were  glossy  pearls 
What  shining  gems  I'd  string  you? 
And  through  the  night 
With  laughing  light 
A  diadem  I'd  fling  you. 


A  SONG  BEFORE  DA  WN.  63 

O  little  Love,  above  the  trees 

The  amber  dawn  is  breaking  ; 
And  hark  !     I  hear  the  sobbing  breeze 
His  garden  loves  forsaking. 
May  dreams  of  bliss 
Your  eyelids  kiss 
And  joyous  be  your  waking. 


THE   WOOING    OF    ROSE. 

I  TOOK  her  little  hand  in  mine  ; 

It  quivered  like  a  bird  ; 
And  as  I  felt  its  touch  divine 

A  trembling  sigh  I  heard. 
Momentous  time  !     Should  I  propose  ? 

I  knew  not  what  to  say ; 
As  I  beheld  my  blushing  Rose 

I  felt  my  hair  turn  gray  I 

There  was  a  passage  in  Lucille 

Just  suited  to  my  case ; 
I  knew  't  would  melt  a  heart  of  steel 

If  quoted  with  true  grace. 


THE  WOOING  OF  ROSE.  65 

I  started — stammered — shuffled — blushed, 
And  though  I  am  not  brave, 

0  then  I  would  have  gladly  rushed 
To  glory  or  the  grave. 

1  thought  of  Byron,  Scott,  and  Moore ; 
Ah,  could  I  but  recall 

A  bit  of  their  poetic  lore ! 

I  once  had  known  it  all. 
"  O  woman  in  our  hoars  of  ease," 

I  blunderingly  said, 
And  then  I  thought  my  tongue  would  freeze, 

And  wished  that  I  were  dead. 

My  heart  was  beating  like  a  flail, 

And  yet  my  lips  were  dumb. 
The  clock  that  hung  upon  a  nail 

Ticked  louder  than  a  drum. 
I  could  not  see ;  for,  strange  to  tell, 

The  air  seemed  full  of  smoke. 


66  THE  WOOING  OF  ROSE. 

Then  from  my  tongue  the  fetters  fell, 
And  then — and  then  I  spoke. 

"  I  love  you,  dear,"  I  said  in  haste ; 

"  I  love  you  too,"  she  said ; 
And  then  I  clasped  her  dainty  waist, 

And  kissed  her  lips  of  red. 
Then  came  a  flood  of  poetry ; 

I  spouted  yards  of  rhyme ; 
And  she  is  going  to  marry  me 

In  apple-blossom  time. 


SPANISH    SONG. 

SENORITA,  red  thy  lips 

As  the  roses  in  the  South  : 
Is  it  yea  or  nay  that  slips 

Birdlike  from  thy  dimpled  mouth  ? 
Captive  to  thy  sorcery 

Cruel  kindness  thou  dost  show; 
Sweetheart,  if  thou  lov'st  not  me, 

Break  the  spell  and  let  me  go. 

Senorita,  dark  thy  hair, 

Gleaming  with  imprisoned  light, 
Like  a  subtle  shining  snare 

Tangling  fast  my  dreams  by  night, 


68  SPANISH  SONG. 


Sleep  or  waking  still  to  thee 
All  my  fevered  thoughts  do  flow  ; 

Sweetheart,  if  thou  lov'st  not  me, 
Break  the  spell  and  let  me  go. 

Senonta,  soft  thine  eyes, 

Lustrous,  fair  and  jetty-fringed, 
Like  twin  stars  that  gem  the  skies 

When  the  dawn  is  rosy-tinged ; 
Cease,  ah,  cease  thy  coquetry, 

Teach  their  rays  a  warmer  glow ; 
Sweetheart,  if  thou  lov'st  not  me, 

Break  the  spell  and  let  me  go. 


A    SOUTHERN    GIRL. 

HER  dimpled  cheeks  are  pale  ; 
She's  a  lily  of  the  vale, 

Not  a  rose. 
In  a  muslin  or  a  lawn 
She  is  fairer  than  the  dawn 

To  her  beaux. 

Her  boots  are  slim  and  neat, — 
She  is  vain  about  her  feet 

It  is  said. 

She  amputates  her  r's, 
But  her  eyes  are  like  the  stars 

Overhead. 


A  SOUTHERN  GIRL. 


On  a  balcony  at  night 
With  a  fleecy  cloud  of  white 

Round  her  hair — 
Her  grace,  ah,  who  could  paint  ? 
She  would  fascinate  a  saint, 

I  declare. 

'T  is  a  matter  of  regret, 
She's  a  bit  of  a  coquette, 

Whom  I  sing : 
On  her  cruel  path  she  goes 
With  a  half-a-dozen  beaux 

To  her  string. 

But  let  all  that  pass  by, 
As  her  maiden  moments  fly 

Dew  empearled ; 
When  she  marries,  on  my  life, 
She  will  make  the  dearest  wife 

In  the  world. 


THE    DANDELION. 

THIS  fairy  story,  every  word, 
Was  told  me  by  a  little  bird : 
A  naughty  elf  in  days  of  old 

Played  truant  by  the  river, 
Upon  his  cap  a  plume  of  gold 

With  laughing  light  a-quiver. 

He  smiling  chased  the  butterflies 
With  eager  feet  and  happy  eyes ; 
And  every  spangle-wing  he  caught 

With  cobwebs  he  would  bind  it, 
And,  when  he  dropped  his  feather,  thought, 

At  even-song  to  find  it. 


THE  DANDELION. 


But  when  the  shadows  grew  apace, 
And  darkness  came  to  end  the  race, 
In  vain  he  sought  amid  the  gloom, 

That  tearful  little  brownie 
He  only  found  in  place  of  plume 

A  dandelion  downy. 


CATCHING    A    DIMPLE. 

THE  roses  kissed  her  shadow, 

The  zephyrs  blither  blew, 
And  the  little  grasses  quivered 

As  they  touched  her  dainty  shoe  ; 
The  branches  bent  to  greet  her, 
While  the  rillets  ran  to  meet  her, 
And  the  summer  morn  was  sweeter 
As  she  tripped  along  the  dew. 

She  stooped  and  plucked  a  daisy 

To  bind  amid  her  hair, 
And  I  seemed  to  see  it  laughing 

With  the  rapture  to  be  there. 


74  CA  TCHING  A  DIMPLE, 

No  fairer  nymph  Apollo 
Ever  chased  o'er  hill  and  hollow  ; 
And  I  could  not  choose  but  follow 
Though  she  led  me  to  despair. 

With  waning  hope  to  win  her, 
And  many  a  fear  to  miss, 

I  traced  her  little  footsteps 
Along  the  road  to  bliss. 

But  love  ne'er  wins  by  weeping, 

So  when  with  pulses  leaping 

I  saw  a  dimple  peeping 
I  caught  it  with  a  kiss. 


THE    LITTLE    RED    RIBBON. 

I  SING  not  of  battles  nor  conquerors  laden 

With  trophies  their  valor  has  won  in  the  strife, 
My  song  is  the  love  of  a  shy  little  maiden 

Who  smiled  upon  me  in  the  morning  of  life. 
I  whispered  my  passion  ;  though  clumsily  spoken, 

With  tear-shining  lashes  she  heeded  my  prayer, 
With  the  ring  of  betrothal  I  plead  for  a  token — 

The  little  red  ribbon  she  wore  in  her  hair. 

Though  now  it  is  faded 

I  picture  it  braided 
The  way  that  it  shimmered  that  night  on  the  stair; 

And  often  I  kiss  it, 

And  think  how  I'd  miss  it — 
The  little  red  ribbon  she  wore  in  her  hair. 


76  THE  LITTLE  RED  RIBBON. 

The   years  have  flown  by  and  her  locks    have  grown 
whiter ; 

I  smile  when  she  speaks  of  the  gray  in  the  gold ; 
I  whisper  to  her  that  her  glances  are  brighter, 

Her  dimples  more  witching  than  ever  of  old. 
Our  love-life  has  witnessed  more  laughing  than  weep 
ing; 

We  chase  with  fond  kisses  the  footprints  of  care  ; 
But  my  little  wife  never  dreams  I  am  keeping 

The  little  red  ribbon  she  wore  in  her  hair. 

Though  faded  and  crinkled 

And  rumpled  and  wrinkled, 
The  bonnie,  bright  looping  that  glistened  so  fair — 

Far  down  in  my  pocket 

It  lies  in  a  locket — 
The  little  red  ribbon  she  wore  in  her  hair. 


MABEL    AT    HER    NEEDLEWORK. 

MABEL  sits  at  her  broidery  frame 
With  threads  of  gold  and  blue  ; 

And  her  needle  darts  with  subtle  aim 
The  silken  fabric  through. 

She  sings  as  soft  as  the  wind  that  grieves 
When  the  summer  roses  blight, 

While  her  fingers  glide  like  lily  leaves 
That  drift  in  the  autumn  night. 

I  view  them  flitting  to  and  fro 

O'er  the  web  of  her  broiderie, 
And  my  fancy  wanders  long  ago 

To  a  castle  by  the  sea. 


78  MABEL  A  T  HER  NEEDLEWORK. 

I  catch  the  grace  of  a  shy,  quaint  glance 

That  leaps  from  her  eyes  of  gray, 
And  dream  she  hath  strayed  from  an  old  romance 

To  win  the  hearts  of  to-day. 


LOVE    AMONG    THE    CLOVER. 

OVER  and  over  the  purple  clover, 

Under  the  greenwood  tree, 

Sweet  Bessie  came  straying,  for  wild-flowers  Maying, 
And  sang  in  her  maiden  glee  : 
"  O  hey,  O  ho ! 
There's  a  laddy  I  know 
Who  joys  my  face  to  see. 
Fair  blossoms,  I  pray,  now  what  shall  I  say 
When  Robin  comes  wooing  o'  me, 

Dear  heart, 
When  Robin  comes  wooing  o'  me  ?  " 

Over  and  under  the  boughs  asunder, 
Through  the  wood  came  Robin  ere  long ; 

In  the  olden  fashion  he  carolled  his  passion, 
And  the  hawthorn  swayed  to  his  song  : 


8o  LOVE  AMONG  THE  CLOVER. 

"  O  hey,  O  ho ! 

The  way  I  know 

She  dropped  me  this  flower  to  tell ; 
But  what  she  will  say  this  blossomy  day — 
Would  that  I  knew  it  as  well, 

Dear  heart, 
Would  that  I  knew  it  as  well." 

Over  and  over  the  fragrant  clover, 

The  bees  went  humming  till  late, 
And  where  is  the  laddy,  and  what  luck  had  he 
A-wooing  his  blithesome  mate  ? 
O  hey,  O  ho  ! 
They  walk  full  slow, 
Brown  Robin  and  blushing  Bess ; 
But  what  did  she  say  in  the  wood  to-day  ? 
I  think  I  will  leave  you  to  guess, 

Dear  heart, 
I  think  I  will  leave  you  to  guess. 


MY    LOST    LOVE. 

'T  WAS  morn  beside  the  summer  sea ; 
My  love  and  I,  how  blithe  were  we ! 
The  salt  sea-wind  sang  bold  and  free 

Before  the  gates  of  day. 
Our  pulses  throbbed  with  bliss  divine 
To  see  a  rainbow  span  the  brine 
With  tender  tints  as  if  in  sign 
Our  joy  would  live  for  aye. 
O  first  love,  O  fair  love, 

Beside  the  summer  sea, 
As  coos  the  newly-mated  dove 
You  sang  your  love  to  me ! 


MY  LOST  LOVE. 


'T  is  night  beside  the  summer  sea; 
Amid  the  night's  pale  mystery 
My  fair  lost  love  comes  back  to  me 

As  in  the  olden  time. 
Her  smile  is  softer  than  the  mist, 
By  silvery  moonbeams  shyly  kist ; 
Her  voice  is  clear  and  low  and  trist 
And  sweeter  far  than  rhyme. 
O  first  love,  O  last  love, 

Beside  the  summer  sea, 
As  clasps  the  wave  the  star  above, 
So  clings  my  heart  to  thee  I 


LETTER   SONG. 

WHO  is  it  dreams  of  thee  all  the  night 

Till  the  last  star  dies  in  the  gray  ? 
Who  is  it  calls  thee  his  heart's  delight, 

Though  many  a  league  away  ? 
Who  is  it  wishes  thy  sorrow  to  bear, 

Leaving  the  joy  for  thee  ? 
Who  is  it  breathes  thee  a  song  and  a  prayer  ? 

Come  look  in  my  heart  and  see, 
Dear  heart, 

Look  in  my  heart  and  see. 

Who  is  it  longs  for  the  touch  of  thy  hand, 
The  sound  of  thy  feet  at  the  door  ? 

And  who  would  give  all  the  gold  in  the  land 
To  gaze  on  thy  face  once  more  ? 


84  LETTER  SONG. 


Who  is  it  craving  thy  voice  to  beguile 

Grim  cares  that  will  not  flee  ? 
Whose  eyes  are  a-thirst  for  thy  winsome  smile  ? 

Come  look  in  my  heart  and  see, 
Dear  heart, 

Look  in  my  heart  and  see. 

Whose  are  the  veins  that  laugh  and  leap 

Whenever  thy  name  Is  heard  ? 
Whose  are  the  eyes  that  fain  would  weep 

To  think  of  a  hope  deferred  ? 
Whose  is  the  arm  that  will  not  fail, 

If  ever  thy  need  shall  be  ? 
Whose  is  the  love  that  never  grows  pale  ? 

Come  look  in  my  heart  and  see, 
Dear  heart, 

Look  in  my  heart  and  see. 


AN    APRIL    MAID. 

TRIPPING  through  the  April  breeze 

In  a  kirtle  blue, 
Brighter  blossom  mellow  bees 

Ne'er  in  summer  woo. 

From  her  little  scarlet  mouth 
Rills  of  song  are  gliding, 

Ballads  of  the  balmy  South, 
In  her  memory  biding. 

She  is  winsome,  she  is  shy, 

Clad  in  sweet  apparel ; 
Like  the  song  of  Lorelei 

Floats  her  dainty  carol. 


86  AN  APRIL  MAID. 


Round  about  her  wayward  hair 

Tricksy  fairies  hover, 
Trapping  sunbeams  unaware — 

Who  could  choose  but  love  her  ? 

Up  and  down  her  velvet  cheek 
Dimples  share  her  blushes — 

Will  she  listen  if  I  speak 
When  her  carol  hushes  ? 

Be  my  fate  or  drear  or  bright, 
Soon,  ah  !  soon  I'll  know  it; 

If  I  may  not  be  her  knight, — 
Still  Til  be  her  poet  I 


WOOING. 

WOOING,  wooing,  wooing!  there's  wooing  everywhere, 
A  myriad  tender  murmurings  are  floating  on  the  air ; 
The  ripple  of  the  laughing  rills  that  leap  to  meet  the 

sun, 
The    wood-dove's  soft   and    twilight   tone  amid  the 

shadows  dun, 
While  on  the  purple  hills  afar  the  pine-trees'  constant 

boughs 
Repeat  in  endless  harmony  their  never-broken  vows. 

Wooing,  wooing,  wooing  !     Alas  !  't  is  growing  late. 
The  birds  were  mated  long  ago;  Sweetheart,  shall  we 

not  mate  ? 

The  tender  melody  of  love  makes  music  in  the  blood ; 
The  magic  tide  that  comes  but  once  is  rolling  to  the 

flood. 


88  WOOING. 

Alas  for  those  who  dream  and  dream  unplighted  on  the 

shore 
And  wake  to  find  the  tide  of  love  has  ebbed  forever 

more ! 


MORNING    SONG. 

SWEETHEART,  the  night  is  over,  the  mists  have  shrunk 

away ; 

The  morning  beams  are  gathering  the  dew-drops  from 
the  spray, 

And  every  little  leaf 
With  a  rapture  like  to  grief 

Is  a-quiver  with  the  kisses  of  the  summer  winds  at 
play. 

Forth  let  us  stray,  dear, 

While  't  is  summer-time  j 
All  the  world  is  gay,  dear, 
Fit  for  love  and  rhyme. 

Sweetheart,  come  let  us  wander  ;  the  paths  are  blos 
som-strewn  ; 

There  are  daisies  for  your  tresses,  there  are  poppies  for 
your  shoon. 


9o  MORNING  SONG. 

Let  their  beauty  and  their  glee 
Wake  a  tender  thought  of  me 

Ere  the  summer  day  has  floated  to  the  golden  gates  of 
noon. 

Why  should  we  part,  love  ? 

When  true  lovers  wed 
Summer's  in  the  heart,  love, 
When  their  bloom  is  dead. 


PUCK. 

WHEN  the  last  gold  threads  are  gliding 

From  the  loom  of  weary  day> 
Many  a  bliss  for  me  is  biding 

By  the  way, 
Where  the  mellow,  brown  bee  doies 

In  the  twilight  naught  I  miss, 

Greeting  pansies,  pinks  and  roses 

With  a  kiss. 

Through  a  shadow-land  of  flowers 

In  the  musky  gloom  I  go, 
While  the  petals  fall  in  showers 

Soft  and  low. 
Till  Aurora's  silver  finger 

Beckons  on  the  laggard  light, 
With  my  frolic  elves  I  linger, 
Then — good-night. 


SHE    SAID    THAT    I    WAS    DREAMING. 

THE  amber  beams  were  flitting 

From  the  meadow  newly-mown — 
My  Love  and  I  were  sitting 

In  the  waning  light  alone. 
I  told  her  of  my  passion, 

And  the  hope  I  had  at  stake  ; 
She  said  that  I  was  dreaming — 

Ah,  let  me  never  wake  ! 

The  mellow  glow  grew  dimmer ; 

I  clasped  her  hand  in  mine ; 
The  stars  began  to  glimmer 

Above  the  drowsy  pine. 
I  said  their  beams  were  shining 

The  brighter  for  her  sake  ; 
She  told  me  I  was  dreaming — 

Ah,  let  me  never  wake  ! 


SHE  SAID  THA  T  I  WAS  DREAMING.  93 

I  felt  her  fingers  tremble  ; 

Shy  teardrops  I  could  see ; 
Her  heart  could  not  dissemble 

The  love  she  bore  for  me. 
I  whispered  :   "  Were  you  faithless, 

Sweetheart  my  heart  would  break : 
If  loving  is  but  dreaming 

Ah,  let  me  never  wake  !  " 


ELF    SONG. 

I  TWIST  the  toes  of  the  birds  a-doze, 

I  tinkle  the  dew-bells  bright ; 
I  chuck  the  chin  of  the  dimpled  rose 

Till  she  laughs  in  the  stars'  dim  light. 
The  glowworm's  lamp  I  hide  in  the  damp, 

I  steal  the  wild  bee's  sting ; 
I  pinch  the  toad  till  his  legs  are  a-cramp, 

And  clip  the  beetle's  wing. 
O  ho !     O  hey  ! 
My  pranks  I  play 

With  never  a  note  of  warning. 

I  set  a  snare  for  the  moonbeams  fair 
All  wrought  of  spider-web  twine  ; 

I  tangle  the  naughty  children's  hair 
In  a  snarl  of  rare  design. 


ELF  SONG.  95 


I  flit  through  the  house  without  any  noise, 

There's  never  an  elf  so  sly  ; 
I  break  the  toys  of  bad  little  boys 

And  the  cross  little  girls  who  cry. 

0  hey  !     O  ho  ! 

1  work  them  woe, 

Till  crows  the  cock  in  the  morning. 


THAT    LITTLE    LASS    OF    MINE. 

THE  trembling  dew-drop  tipped   with   light   upon  the 

grass  at  morn, 
That  glitters   like   a  jewel   lost    by    elfin    courtier 

fine, 

The  melody  of  summer  winds  amid  the  swaying  corn, 
Both   waken   happy   visions  of   that  little    lass    of 
mine ; 

For  no  gems  could  e'er  be  fairer, 
Nor  morning  roses  rarer, 

Though  hued   their   pouting  petals   with   the   tint   of 
amber  wine ; 

There  was  envy  in  the  skies 
When  the  stars  beheld  her  eyes, 
So  lovely  are  the  glances  of  that  little  lass  of  mine. 


THA  T  LITTLE  LASS  OF  MINE.  97 

I'll   whisper  you  a  secret  (hush!)    that   no   one   ever 

thinks— 

I  pray  you  do  not  tell  her,  for  I  keep  it  by  design  : 
Her  lips  are  made  of  cherries  and  her  cheeks  are  made 

of  pinks, 

Her  eyes  of  sunny  violets — that  little  lass  of  mine ; 
And  no  one  ever  guesses 

That  her  wealth  of  wayward  tresses        [shine, 
Was   spun  by  fairy  spinners  from  the  stolen  summer 
While  her  merry  tripping  toes, 
They  were  fashioned  from  a  rose 

/It  must  have  been  a  climbing  rose),  that  little  lass  of 
mine  I 

vfhere  is  a  song  most  wonderful  that  never  has  been 

sung, 
'T  is  waiting  for  a  worthy  bard  to  breathe  its  golden 

line  : 

O  poet,  come  and  sing  it  on  a  harp  with  silver  strung, 
No  other  lay  were  fitting  for  that  little  lass  of  mine. 


98  THA  T  LITTLE  LA  SS  OF  MINE. 

Come  ripple  forth  her  praises 
Like  the  rillet  through  the  daisies, 

And  let  your  rhymes  part,  meet  and  kiss  like  blossoms 
on  a  vine, 

While  a  fairy's  wings  unseen 
Float  the  trembling  strings  between, 

To  make  the  carol  meeter  for  that,  little  lass  of  mine. 


MR.    DREAM-MAKER. 

A  Lullaby. 

COME,  Mr.  Dream-maker,  sell  me  to-night 

The  loveliest  dream  in  your  shop; 
My  dear  little  lassie  is  weary  of  light, 

Her  lids  are  beginning  to  drop. 
She's  good  when  she's  gay,  but  she's  tired  of  play, 

And  the  teardrops  will  naughtily  creep ; 
So  Mr.  Dream-maker,  hasten,  I  pray, 

My  little  girl's  going  to  sleep. 


A    MOONLIGHT    MAID. 

WE  had  wandered  forth  at  eventide 

Through  the  blossoming  lane  for  a  stroll ; 
I  was  young  and  shy,  but  ardent-eyed, 

And  she  was  the  queen  of  my  soul. 
The  moon  shed  silvery  sympathy 

As  we  gazed,  on  the  sky  of  June, 
"  Now,  what  would  you  do,"  said  my  Love  to  me, 

"  If  you  were  the  man  in  the  moon  ?  " 

In  her  dimpled  face  I  gave  one  glance, 

And  Hope  leaped  high  in  my  breast ; 
What  lover  could  wish  for  a  rarer  chance 

To  put  his  fate  to  the  test  ? 
"  If  I  were  the  man  in  the  moon,"  said  I, 

As  I  gazed  in  her  face  divine, 
"  I'd  scatter  the  envious  clouds  on  high 

And  for  you  alone  I  would  shine. 


A  MOONLIGHT  MAW. 


"  I'd  gather  the  stars  in  a  buckle  bright 

To  gleam  on  your  dainty  shoe ; 
To  a  comet  I'd  hitch  my  car  to-night 

And  wander  through  space  with  you. 
I'd  snatch,"    "  Now,  stop,  that's  enough,  dear  me  !  " 

And  gayly  her  laughter  rung. 
"  If  you  were  the  man  in  the  moon,"  said  she, 

"  You'd  admire  me  and  hold  your  tongue." 


THE    PASSING    OF    SUMMER. 

A  NAMELESS  sorrow  haunts  the  air 

With  whispers  vague  and  scattered; 
It  echoes  round  each  blossom  fair 
By  zephyrs  lately  flattered. 
The  rose  at  night 
Awakes  in  fright 
From  dreams  of  beauty  shattered. 

The  cricket  pipes  an  Autumn  rune, 

A  careless-hearted  rover, 
Fair  Summer  dons  her  faded  shoon 
Amid  the  withered  clover; 
In  vain  we  pray ; 
She  may  not  stay, 
Her  matchless  reign  is  over. 


A    SONG    FOR    THE    SOUTH. 

O  PEERLESS  land  of  tears  and  smiles, 
Of  fragrant  glooms  and  golden  hours, 

Where  Summer's  hand  with  endless  wiles 
Entwines  the  feet  of  Time  with  flowers, 

Howe'er  the  tide  of  fortune  flow, 

Thou  hast  my  heart  where'er  I  go- 

No  blot  of  shame  thy  record  mars 

In  senate-hall  or  lurid  fight : 
Thy  spotless  fame  shines  like  the  stars 

That  guard  thee  through  the  balmy  night. 
In  weary  wanderings  to  and  fro, 
Thou  hast  my  heart  where'er  I  go. 


io4  A  SONG  FOR  THE  SOUTH. 

Thy  maids  are  fair,  thy  warriors  brave, 
And  those  at  peace  beneath  the  pine, 

Hymned  through  the  air  by  wind  and  wave, 
Their  glory  needs  no  song  of  mine. 

O  native  Land !  through  weal  and  woe, 

Thou  hast  my  heart  where'er  I  go  1 


A    CREOLE    SERENADE. 

THE  lily  bares  her  snowy  breast 

Beneath  the  summer  moon  ; 
The  moth  pursues  his  honeyed  quest 

Where  sucked  the  bee  at  noon  ; 
And  from  the  fountain's  liquid  light 

The  fairy  music  flies 
To  plead  for  me  the  love,  to-night, 

Thy  wayward  heart  denies. 

Sail,  Love,  sail 
Across  the  slumber  sea, 

And  freight  thy  bark, 

Amid  the  dark, 
With  tender  dreams  of  me ! 


106  A  CREOLE  SERENADE. 

The  lissome  rose  with  balmy  feet 

Around  thy  lattice  climbs  ; 
The  breeze  steals  in  with  winglets  fleet 

To  breathe  his  silver  rhymes  ; 
While  I,  with  weary  waiting  worn, 

Gaze  up  with  wistful  eyes, 
And  guard  thy  slumbers  till  the  morn 

Comes  laughing  up  the  skies. 

Sail,  Love,  sail 
Across  the  slumber  sea, 

And  freight  thy  bark, 

Amid  the  dark, 
With  tender  dreams  of  me  1 


THE    MAIDEN    OF    MY    DREAMS. 

I'M  dreaming  of  my  darling's  face, 

The  shrine  of  fancies  pure  ; 
Each  lineament  I  love  to  trace, 

And  feel  its  tender  lure ; 
Her  balmy  lips  whose  blooming  grace 

All  gems  I  prize  above ; 
Her  faithful  eyes  whose  light  doth  chase 

All  thoughts  but  those  of  love. 

I'm  dreaming  of  my  darling's  feet, 

That  are  so  lithe  and  small, 
She  shames  the  rose's  petal  fleet 

Where'er  her  footsteps  fall. 
Where'er  she  trips  their  music  sweet 

Is  neither  bold  nor  coy  ; 
My  heart  bemoans  their  parting  beat — 

Their  coming  brings  me  joy. 


io8  THE  MAIDEN  OF  MY  DREAMS. 

I'm  dreaming  of  my  darling's  lays, 

They  are  so  low  and  clear  ; 
E'en  when  she  speaks  her  voice  betrays 

A  wish  to  bless  and  cheer. 
But  why  should  I  thus  sing  her  praise 

When  every  eye  can  see 
She  is  too  fair  for  mortal  gaze, 

And  all  the  world  to  me  ? 


MY    LOVE    IN    THE    LONG    AGO. 

SOFT  is  the  light  on  the  summer  sea, 
When  the  sun  in  the  west  is  low, 
And  the  billows  sigh  to  the  shells  that  lie 
In  the  sunset's  mellow  glow ; 
But  the  beauty  gleams  in  vain, 
And  the  tints  that  wax  and  wane 
And  the  song  of  the  surge 
At  the  ocean's  verge, 
Seems  naught  but  a  dirge, 

For  oh  I 

My  thoughts  fly  far,  'neath  the  evening  star, 
To  my  Love  in  the  long  ago. 

The  wind  comes  up  from  the  sighing  sea, 
And  the  sea-bird's  wing  of  snow 

Fades  from  my  sight  in  the  clasp  of  night, 
Like  joy  in  the  arms  of  woe ; 


MY  LOVE  IN  THE  LONG  AGO. 


And  I  dream  by  the  billows  blue 
Of  a  heart  that  was  leal  and  true  ; 
And  I  vow  by  the  tide, 
Though  Fate  may  divide 
My  faith  shall  abide, 
And  grow ; 

And  my  heart  ever  turn  while  the  bright  stars  burn 
To  my  Love  in  the  long  ago. 


THE    YEAR    HATH   REACHED    ITS    AFTER 
NOON. 

THE  laughing  flights  of  song  are  still 
That  charmed  the  springtide  air ; 

Down  rivulet  and  grassy  rill 
No  wayward  perfumes  fare ; 

Upon  her  throne  Queen  August  lies 

With  languor  in  her  dreamful  eyes. 

The  idle  clouds  that  stray  the  blue 

Their  mission  now  forget ; 
A  blended  note  the  wood-doves  coo 

Of  passion  and  regret; 
The  sparrows  flute  a  faded  tune ; 
The  year  hath  reached  its  afternoon. 


YEAR  HA  TH  REACHED  ITS  AFTERNOON. 

The  cricket  clears  his  dusty  throat 

To  sing  an  eerie  strain  ; 
And  as  he  pipes  with  rusty  note 

Of  beauty  soon  to  wane, 
The  red  rose  trembles  on  the  tree 
With  prescience  of  the  fate  to  be. 


A    SONG    TO   THE   AUTUMN  WIND. 

WIND  of  Autumn,  breathing  spices 

Ravished  from  the  woods  and  fields, 
In  thy  song  a  spell  entices 

Stronger  than  a  wizard  wields. 
I  obey  thee.     Be  thou  master ; 

Guide  my  feet  o'er  vale  and  rill, 
Lead  me  onward  where  the  aster 

Crowns  with  purple  stars  the  hill. 

Let  the  path  be  long  and  winding, 

Bloom  and  berry  fringe  the  way ; 
Every  turn  fresh  beauty  finding 

Fairer  than  the  flush  of  May. 
Autumn  lingers,  Winter  tarries, 

Laughter  wings  our  frolic  feet.- 
Lighter  heart  no  pixy  carries 

When  the  tricksy  fairies  meet. 


A    GEORGIA    GIRL. 

T  is  always  springtime  in  her  face 
Howe'er  the  winds  may  blow. 

Let  shifting  seasons  pass  apace 
Her  roses  ever  glow  ; 

The  poppies  on  her  dainty  mouth 
Still  burn  with  scarlet  hue, 

And  breathe  the  fragrance  of  the  south 
Beneath  her  eyes  of  blue. 

I  joy  to  watch  her  lissome  feet, 
'Tis  bliss  to  view  them  pass ; 

For  lo,  they  flit  with  rhythmic  beat 
And  scarcely  bend  the  grass. 

The  daisies  laugh  as  she  goes  by 
And  strive  to  kiss  her  shoe, 

And  e'en  the  zephyrs  softer  sigh 
Beneath  her  eyes  of  blue. 


A  GEORGIA   GIRL. 


The  sunbeams  tangled  in  her  hair 

Like  merry  captives  play. 
They  never  know  a  grief  or  care 

But  glisten  all  the  day. 
She  laughs  at  love !     He  well  may  bless 

His  fate  who  comes  to  woo. 
And  happy  wins  a  whispered  "  yes  " 
Beneath  her  eyes  of  blue. 


TO    A    CRICKET. 

PIPER  with  the  rusty  quill 
Fifing  on  a  windy  hill 

In  a  dusty  coat ; 
Saddened  by  the  fading  glow 
Softer  measures  seem  to  flow 

From  thy  russet  throat. 

Perched  amid  the  withered  grass, 
Like  a  friar  singing  mass 

O'er  the  blossoms  dead  ; 
Hauntingly  a  note  of  woe 
Echoes  from  thy  tremolo, 

Mourning  beauty  fled. 


TO  A  CRICKET.  117 


As  I  listen  fancy  strays 

Backward  through  the  summer  ways 

Prankt  with  nodding  flowers  ; 
And  anon  the  fragrant  night 
Rich  in  song  and  rare  delight 

Opes  her  musky  bowers. 

Glowworms  glimmer,  fireflies  speed 
Lighting  Puck  and  Mustard-seed 

And  their  pixie  crew. 
Then  the  darkness  flees,  and  Morn 
Peeping  o'er  the  poppied  corn 

Becks  to  pleasures  new. 

Dimpled  daisies,  laughing,  toss 
Kisses  o'er  the  dewy  moss 

At  my  wayward  feet ; 
While  the  lays  of  bees  and  birds 
Sweeter  than  all  carolled  words 

In  soft  chorus  meet. 


xi8  TO  A   CRICKET. 


Rising  from  the  lap  of  Noon 
Comes  a  drowsy  breeze  to  croon 

Mid  the  new-mown  hay  : 
As  thou  pipest,  thus  I  fare, 
Fancy  led  to  visions  rare 

Down  the  summer  day. 

When  the  winds  from  arctic  waves 
Wailing  o'er  the  flower-graves 

Glass  each  shuddering  pool  ; 
Minstrel  flee  thy  frozen  nest, 
I  shall  wait  thee  ;  be  my  guest 

On  the  hearth  at  Yulei 


AUTUMN  DAWN. 

THE  stars  have  watched  by  the  dying  rose 
Till  the  east  is  red  with  the  dawn ; 

And  the  shattered  leaves  have  sought  repose 
On  the  breast  of  the  frozen  lawn. 

The  spider's  net  with  many  a  gem 
Hangs  bright  in  the  morning  ray, 

While  the  cricket  chants  a  requiem 
In  the  grasses  stark  and  gray. 

The  twittering  birds  with  fickle  faith 

To  a  distant  land  have  flown ; 
And  a  weird  perfume  like  summer's  wraith, 

Strays  through  the  woods  alone. 


DREAM-LOVE. 

THERE  is  a  mate  for  every  heart 

That  throbs  beneath  the  sun, 
Though  some  by  fate  are  kept  apart 

Till  life  is  nearly  done  ; 
Where  is  the  loyal  heart  and  hand 

Shall  make  my  life  complete  ? 
God  bless  my  Love,  on  sea  or  land, 

Until  our  paths  shall  meet ! 

My  faith  is  sure 

And  will  endure, 
Till  that  glad  hour  shall  be : 

Sweet  moment  haste 

Across  the  waste 
And  bring  my  Love  to  me. 


DREAM-LOVE. 


The  glow  of  morn  is  in  her  face, 

Its  dew-lights  in  her  eyes, 
Amid  her  hair  the  peerless  grace 

That  tints  the  morning  skies  ; 
And,  oh,  her  feet,  her  little  feet, 

They  are  so  lithe  and  small, 
I  dream  I  catch  their  rhythmic  beat 

Whene'er  the  rose  leaves  fall. 

Yes,  oft  in  dreams 

With  sonny  gleams 
Her  winsome  smile  I  see. 

Sweet  moment  haste 

Across  the  waste 
And  bring  my  Love  to  me  I 


LISETTE. 

HER  smile  is  like  the  radiance 

That  shimmers  round  the  rose, 
When  first  it  greets  the  wooing  glance 

That  happy  morning  throws. 
Her  breath  is  like  the  summer  breeze 

That  wanders  from  the  wild, 
And  whispers  to  the  mellow  bees 

Of  dewy  buds  beguiled. 

The  raptures  of  her  voice  enthrall 

The  birds  among  the  bowers  ; 
Her  little  feet  as  lightly  fall 

As  dew  upon  the  flowers. 
But  why,  oh  why  with  trembling  string 

Pursue  the  minstrel's  art  ? 
The  sweetest  rhyme  can  never  sing 

The  charms  that  win  my  heart. 


A    SUMMER   GIRL. 

SHE  wears  a  saucy  hat 
And  her  feet  go  pit-a-pat 

As  she  walks  ; 
And  the  sweetest  music  slips 
From  her  merry  madding  lips 

When  she  talks. 

She  fascinates  the  street 
With  her  gaiters  trim  and  neat, 

Made  of  kid, 

For  they  twinkle  as  they  pass, 
Like  the  rillets  in  the  grass, 

Half-way  hid. 


124  A  SUMMER  GIRL. 

Her  skin  is  soft  and  white, 
Like  magnolia  buds  at  night 

On  the  bough ; 
But  for  fear  she'd  be  too  fair, 
There's  a  freckle  here  and  there 

On  her  brow. 

Dimples  play  at  hide  and  seek 
On  her  apple-blossom  cheek 

And  her  chin, 
Slyly  beckoning  to  you, 
"  Don't  you  think  it's  time  to  woo  ? 

Pray  begin." 

Then  her  winsome,  witching  eyes 

Flash  like  bits  of  summer  skies 
O'er  her  fan, 

As  if  to  say,  "  We've  met ; 

You  may  go  now  and  forget— 
If  you  can." 


LAUGHING    IN    HER   SLEEP. 

I  CAUGHT  my  Love  reclining 

Beside  the  ingle  warm, 
Her  silken  tresses  twining 

About  her  snowy  arm. 
A  silver  rippling  murmur, 

A  dimple  half  a-peep, 
Proclaimed  my  little  sweetheart 

Laughing  in  her  sleep. 

As  she  lay  there  a-dreaming, 

Had  Cupid  crept  anear, 
Beside  the  embers  gleaming, 

To  whisper  in  her  ear  ? 
Some  plan  for  man's  confusion, 

Some  plot  for  heartaches  deep, 
It  filled  her  soul  with  rapture, 

Laughing  in  her  sleep. 


i26  LAUGHING  IN  HER  SLEEP. 

Ah,  woe  betide  the  morrow 

When  she  shall  come  to  wake  I 
My  soul  is  wrung  with  sorrow 

To  think  how  hearts  will  ache. 
For  gallant  beaux  may  tremble, 

And  pitying  seraphs  weep, 
When  Cupid  talks  with  Beauty 

Laughing  in  her  sleep  ! 


THE    LOVE    THAT    LIVES    FOR    AYE. 

I  WANDERED  through  a  dreary  land 

Before  our  life  paths  met ; 
Life's  guerdons  bright  escaped  my  hand 

Or  vanished  in  regret. 
You  came  and  chased  the  clouds  away, 

My  silver  star  of  morn, 
And  ushered  in  the  peerless  day 

My  dearest  hope  was  born. 

If  not  for  me  the  sweet  love  hid 

Within  your  gracious  heart ; 
If  fate  should  frown  on  me  and  bid 

My  new-found  hope  depart, 
Ah,  do  not  deem  all  solace  fled, 

Or  think  my  love  can  die 
Till  memory's  lamp  shall  cease  to  shed 

The  light  of  days  gone  by. 


EULALIE. 

LIGHTLY  swings  the  southern  rose 

Laced  around  with  lisping  leaves, 

Sweet  its  fragrance  comes  and  goes 

Hanging  from  my  cottage  eaves  ; 

Prankt  with  pearls  of  summer  dew, 

Fair  and  free, 

Tender  thoughts  it  brings  of  you, 
Eulalie. 

Softly  falls  the  southern  shine 
Stealing  o'er  my  russet  floor, 
Sifting  through  the  wooing  pine 
Waving  at  my  cottage  door  ; 
Shifting  shyly  all  the  while 

Full  of  glee, 

'T  is  an  emblem  of  your  smile, 
Eulalie. 


EULALIE.  129 

Gently  laughs  the  southern  breeze 
Through  the  window  at  my  side, 
Straying  from  blue  Mexique  seas 
Where  it  kissed  the  dimpled  tide. 
When  its  fluting  tones  rejoice, 

Then  for  me 

Lives  again  your  winsome  voice, 
Eulalie. 


LOVE'S    ART. 

UPON  the  ice  with  fingers  chill 
My  darling's  name  I  traced; 

Alack !  despite  the  loving  skill 
The  sun  my  art  effaced. 

I  wrote  it  next  upon  the  grass 

With  petals  of  a  flower, 
And  sighed  to  find  the  wind,  alas, 
Had  blurred  it  in  an  hour. 

I  carved  it  in  the  shining  sand 

Beside  the  summer  sea, 
A  wave  stole  up  with  stealthy  hand 

And  bore  it  off  "from  me. 

Upon  my  grief,  young  Cupid  came  ; 

"  Not  all  in  vain  your  art," 
Cried  he,  "  for  as  you  wrought  the  name 

T  was  graven  on  your  heart." 


THE    DEATH    OF    AUTUMN. 

ELVES  and  fairies  weep  and  moan  ; 

Wail,  sweet  Autumn,  to  the  wind ! 
Brownies  of  the  woodland  groan, 

With  sad  fingers  intertwined. 
Duller  wax  her  brilliant  dyes, 
Dimmer  wane  her  dying  eyes, 
Breathless  now  her  body  lies, 

Strewn  with  roses  overblown. 

Sigh  and  sob,  ye  frolic  sprites, 

Who  will  crown  your  revels  now  ? 
She  who  led  to  rare  delights 

Sleeps  beneath  the  frozen  bough. 
Toll  for  Autumn  !     Soft  and  slow 
Falls  and  falls  the  pitying  snow, 
Weaving  beauty's  pall  below, 

Through  the  long  and  lonely  nights. 


MARGUERITE. 

SHE  reads  shy  Nature's  inner  mood, 
The  wordless  winds  are  understood, 
The  timid  floweret  of  the  wood 

To  her  its  heart  confesses. 

Her  movements  own  a  winsome  grace ; 

And  wildwood  charms  enshrine  her  face 

While  bending  o'er  she  stoops  to  place 

A  daisy  in  her  tresses. 

Marguerite,  shy  and  sweet, 

Singing  as  you  stray, 
The  flower  of  June  will  wither  soon 
But  true  love  blooms  for  aye. 

Across  the  fields  she  trips  at  morn, 
Her  glances  thrill  the  ripening  corn  ; 
And  earth  is  glad  that  she  was  born, 


MARGUERITE. 


While  heaven  leans  and  blesses. 
Though  many  a  royal  flower  I  see 
Carnation,  rose,  &cA£ettr-dt-list 
Oh  take  them  all,  and  give  to  me 
The  daisy  in  her  tresses  ! 
Marguerite,  fair  and  fleet, 

List  to  me  I  pray ; 

Your  beauty  bright  must  lose  its  light, 
But  my  love  shines  for  aye. 


SWEETHEART. 

SWEETHEART,  when  first  I  met  thee, 

Dost  tliou  recall  that  clay  ? 
The  winds  were  sweet  with  music, 

The  skies  were  bright  with  May. 
Hope  came  on  pearly  pinions 

To  bid  my  passion  speak, 
And  I,  amid  the  blushes,  saw 

Love's  morning  on  thy  cheek. 

When  first  I  met  thee,  Sweetheart, 

With  raptured  heart  and  brain 
I  had  no  dread  of  parting, 

No  thought  had  I  of  pain  ; 
Nor  dreamed  the  frost  of  anger 

Would  come  to  chill  my  skies, 
And  I  in  sorrow  e'er  should  see 

Love's  sunset  in  your  eyes. 


SWEETHEART. 


Sweetheart,  when  first  I  met  thee, 

Fond  vows  thou  diclst  not  spurn ; 
My  soul  gave  all  its  treasure 

And  scorned  to  ask  return. 
Within  my  heart  still  brightly 

Love's  beacon  flames  for  thee 
Across  the  waves  of  doubting.     Oh, 

Come  back,  Sweetheart,  to  me  1 


THE    GIRL  IN   THE   GAINSBOROUGH   HAT. 

SHE  wore  a  hat  with  a  curving  brim 

And  a  gleaming  plume  of  white, 
That  nodded  and  laughed  o'er  the  dusky  rim, 

Like  foam  in  the  morning  light. 
I  gave  one  glance  ;  't  was  enough — and  more, 

For  my  heart  went  away  with  that. 
My  comrades  smiled  as  I  watched  from  the  door 

The  girl  in  the  Gainsborough  hat. 

Her  locks  were  as  dark  as  the  blackbird's  wing, 

Her  lashes  a  fringe  of  jet ; 
Her  eyes  were  the  kind  that  the  poets  sing, 

And  a  soldier  can  never  forget. 
I  looked.     I  sighed.     How  should  I  begin 

The  game  I  would  fain  be  at  ? 
I  knew  by  her  mien  no  sigh  would  win 

The  girl  in  the  Gainsborough  hat. 


THE  GIRL  IN  THE  GAINSBOROUGH  HA  T.      137 

"  Faint  heart  ne'er  won  fair  lady,"  and  so — 

One  twist  of  my  long  mustache, 
And  boldly  I  marched  to  meet  the  foe, 

Where  the  darts  of  Cupid  flash. 
When  a  stammering  lover  grows  dumb,  they  say 

A  kiss  is  better  than  chat ; 
And  that  is  the  way  I  won  that  day, 

The  girl  in  the  Gainsborough  hat. 


TO    A    BUTTERFLY    IN    DECEMBER. 

GAY  gallant  from  the  realm  of  spring 

Amid  the  dusk  unmated, 
Where  wendest  thou  on  trembling  wing 

At  eventide  belated  ? 
Too  frail  to  breathe  a  weary  moan 

Thou  canst  not  make  reply, 
Fluttering  through  the  gloom  alone 
Bewildered  butterfly ! 

December's  breath  is  damp  and  chill 

Upon  the  leafless  hedges, 
The  cricket's  pipe  is  harsh  and  shrill 

Amid  the  rustling  sedges. 
Seek  not  the  colors  rich  and  gay 

That  wreathe  the  western  sky  : 

Trust  not  the  cheating  vision  ;  stay, 

Deluded  butterfly  ! 


TO  A  BUTTERFLY  IN  DECEMBER. 

A  favored  knight  at  Flora's  court 
Thy  dazzling  tints  were  lauded 

When  frolic  zephyrs  led  the  sport 
And  dimpled  buds  applauded. 

But  where  is  now  the  lissome  rose 
That  blushed  to  hear  thee  sigh  ? 

Her  dust  is  blown  where  no  one  knows, 
Forsaken  butterfly! 

For  me  awaits  a  cozy  nook, 

Beside  a  cottage  ingle, 
And  there  above  some  quaint  old  book 

Sweet  fancies  will  commingle. 
Frail  wanderer  in  search  of  rest 

Our  parting  sure  is  nigh, 
To  bid  good-night  were  cruel  jest, 
Poor  homeless  butterfly ! 

Perchance  thy  waning  strength  may  keep 
Thee  from  the  yawning  river ; 

Across  yon  marsh's  oozy  deep 
Thy  feeble  wings  may  quiver, 


TO  A  BUTTERFL  Y  IN  DECEMBER. 

With  pinions  torn  amid  the  gloom 

Thou  strugglest  but  to  die  : 
The  stars  will  light  thee  to  the  tomb, 
Ill-fated  butterfly ! 


LITTLE    BOPEEP    AND    LITTLE  BOY   BLUE. 

IT  happened  one  morning  that  Little  Bopeep, 
While  watching  her  frolicsome,  mischievous  sheep 
Out  in  the  meadow,  fell  fast  asleep. 

By  her  wind-blown  tresses  and  rose-leaf  pout, 

And  her  dimpling  smile,  you'd  have  guessed,  no  doubt, 

'T  was  love,  love,  love  she  was  dreaming  about. 

As  she  lay  there  asleep  came  Little  Boy  Blue, 
Right  over  the  stile  where  the  daisies  grew ; 
Entranced  by  the  picture  he  stopped  in  the  dew. 

So  wildly  bewitching  that  beautiful  morn 
Was  Little  Bopeep  that  he  dropped  his  horn 
And  thought  no  more  of  the  cows  in  the  corn. 


i42     LITTLE  BOPEEP  AND  LITTLE  BOY  BLUE. 

Our  sorrows  are  many,  our  pleasures  are  few  ; 
O  moment  propitious !     What  could  a  man  do  ? 
He  kissed  the  wee  lassie,  that  Little  Boy  Blue  ! 

At  the  smack  the  woolies  stood  all  in  a  row, 

And  whispered  each  other,  "  We're  clearly  de  trap; 

Such  conduct  is  perfectly  shocking — let's  go  !  "    • 


AUTUMN  GLEE. 

'T  is  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves, 
For  watch  the  rain  amid  the  leaves ; 
With  silver  ringers  dimly  seen 
It  makes  each  leaf  a  tambourine  ; 
And  swings  and  leaps  with  elfin  mirth 
To  kiss  the  brow  of  mother  earth ; 
Or,  laughing  'mid  the  trembling  grass, 
It  nods  a  greeting  as  you  pass. 
Oh  !  hear  the  rain  amid  the  leaves — 
'Tis  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves  ! 

'T  is  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves, 
For  list  the  wind  among  the  sheaves  ; 
Far  sweeter  than  the  breath  of  May 
Or  storied  scents  of  old  Cathay, 
It  blends  the  perfumes  rare  and  good 
Of  spicy  pine  and  hickory  wood : 


A  UTUMN  GLEE. 


And  with  a  voice  as  gay  as  rhyme 
It  prates  of  rifled  mint  and  thyme. 
Oh  !  scent  the  wind  among  the  sheaves — 
'T  is  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves  I 

'T  is  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves — 
Behold  the  wondrous  web  she  weaves  ! 
By  viewless  hands  her  thread  is  spun 
Of  evening  vapors  shyly  won. 
Across  the  grass  from  side  to  side 
A  myriad  unseen  shuttles  glide 
Throughout  the  night,  till  on  the  height 
Aurora  leads  the  laggard  light. 
Behold  the  wondrous  web  she  weaves — 
'T  is  all  a  myth  that  Autumn  grieves  I 


INGLE    SONG. 

THROUGH  the  gloaming  chilly 

Falls  the  silent  snow, 
Like  a  shattered  lily 

Drifting  to  and  fro  ; 
Yet  beside  our  ingle 

Summer  dreams  arise : 
If  you  love  me,  Darling, 

Tell  me  with  your  eyes. 

Fires  that  burn  in  quiet 

Long  and  brightly  glow; 
Flames  that  rush  and  riot 

Soon  to  ashes  go. 
Lips  that  move  not  often 

When  they  love,  are  wise, 
If  you  love  me,  Darling, 

Tell  me  with  your  eyes. 


146  INGLE  SOXG. 

There  are  none  to  listen, 

Yet  why  should  we  speak  ? 
When  soft  glances  glisten 

Whispered  words  are  weak. 
We  who  know  love's  silence 

Need  no  low  replies. 
If  you  love  me,  Darling, 

Tell  me  with  your  eyes. 


MY    GRANDMOTHER'S  TURKEY-TAIL   FAN. 

IT  owned  not  a  color  that  vanity  dons 

Or  slender  wits  choose  for  display ; 
Its  beautiful  tint  was  a  delicate  bronze, 

A  brown  softly  blended  with  gray. 
From  her   waist   to  her  chin,   spreading    out  without 
break, 

'T  was  built  on  a  generous  plan : 
The  pride  of  the  forest  was  slaughtered  to  makt 

My  grandmother's  turkey-tail  fan. 

For  common  occasions  it  never  was  meant : 

In  a  chest  between  two  silken  cloths 
'T  was  kept  safely  hidden  with  careful  intent 

In  camphor  to  keep  out  the  moths. 


148    My  GRANDMOTHER'S  TURKEY-TAIL  FAN. 

T  was  famed  far  and  wide  through  the  whole  country 
side, 

From  Beersheba  e'en  unto  Dan ; 
And  often  at  meeting  with  envy  't  was  eyed, 

My  grandmother's  turkey-tail  fan. 

Camp-meetings,  indeed,  were  its  chiefest  delight. 

Like  a  crook  unto  sheep  gone  astray 
It  beckoned  backsliders  to  re-seek  the  right, 

And  exhorted  the  sinners  to  pray. 
It  always  beat  time  when  the  choir  went  wrong, 

In  psalmody  leading  the  van. 
Old  Hundred,  I  know,  was  its  favorite  song — • 

My  grandmother's  turkey-tail  fan. 

A  fig  for  the  fans  that  are  made  nowadays, 

Suited  only  to  frivolous  mirth  ! 
A  different  thing  was  the  fan  that  I  praise, 

Yet  it  scorned  not  the  good  things  of  earth. 


Mr  GRANDMOTHERS  TURKEY-TAIL  FAN.     149 

At  bees  and  at  quiltings  't  was  aye  to  be  seen  ; 

The  best  of  the  gossip  began 
When  in  at  the  doorway  had  entered  serene 

My  grandmother's  turkey-tail  fan. 

Tradition  relates  of  it  wonderful  tales. 

Its  handle  of  leather  was  buff. 
Though  shorn  of  its  glory,  e'en  now  it  exhales 

An  odor  of  hymn-books  and  snuff. 
Its  primeval  grace,  if  you  like,  you  can  trace: 

'T  was  limned  for  the  future  to  scan, 
Just  under  a  smiling  gold-spectacled  face, 

My  grandmother's  turkey-tail  fan. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below. 


NON-RENEWABLE 


APR  08 
DUE2WKSFROM 


MAY 


1994 
3ATE  RECEIVED 


REMINGTON  RAND  INC.  2O 


213         (533) 


University  of  California,  Los  An  eles 


L  007  037  494  7 


